


For Nothing

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4839545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Vanessa Mullen.</p><p>When Avon is rescued from Garron, it soon becomes clear that his mind has been tampered with. Why is he afraid that he will kill Blake?</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Previously Published in Evasive Maneuvers.
> 
> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).

"Standard orbit established," Jenna announced into the silence on the flight deck.

      "And much good it will do us," Vila complained. "We shouldn't have come back, it's far too dangerous."

      "Vila," Cally said quietly. "He could still be alive."

      "If he is, he's probably getting on with them like a house on fire."

      Blake looked over Cally's shoulder at the detectors. There were no pursuit ships in range. It had taken four days to finally shake them off. Four days in which anything might have happened to Avon. 

      Blake said nothing. There was nothing that he could say. Returning to Garron had not been a choice for him. He had had to come. Since Gan's death the whole fight against the Federation had become less certain, his confidence in their final victory less complete. How could he hope to save the galaxy if he couldn't even protect his own crew?

      Everything had seemed so simple, initially. They had received a message from Dr Sanchez on Garron saying that he wished to defect from the Federation and to offer the benefits of his life's work in psychology to the rebellion. 

      Arriving at Garron slightly early, he and Avon had teleported down to the laboratory to meet the doctor. Blake had helped package up various charts and items of equipment that Sanchez wanted to take with him, while Avon went with the doctor to aid in downloading his computer files. 

      The alarms on the base had gone off without any warning. He'd ordered Cally to teleport the three of them up, only to find himself arriving on the  _Liberator_  alone, and the ship under attack. 

      He had wanted to go back immediately, but Cally had stopped him. He was needed on board, and without Avon they were short-handed already. If Avon was a prisoner, it would take several people to carry out a rescue, people they simply could not spare while under fire. Oh, it was logical. Blake had had to agree that it made sense, Avon would have been the first to tell him so. But that still didn't mean he had to like it. 

      Now they were in orbit around Garron once more.   _Liberator_  was still not fully recovered from the fight, but at least there were no pursuit ships in detector range. The small moon that had concealed the hostile force last time had been checked out with care; Blake had no intention of allowing the same trap to be sprung twice. 

      If Avon was alive, they'd find him. If he wasn't alive? Blake pushed that thought to the back of his mind. He wasn't prepared to consider it yet. 

      The sound of the communicator caught him by surprise. 

      " _Liberator_ , can you hear me?"

      Avon's voice, faint but clear. 

      "I hear you, Avon," Cally replied quickly. 

      "Bring me up," the voice said sharply, "and tell Blake to stay out of my sight."

      Cally sprinted for the teleport, and Blake followed more slowly, noting even in his relief, that Avon's temper hadn't improved during his absence. Still, it was understandable if he'd been on the run for several days. It was nothing short of amazing that Avon had evaded capture. 

      Cally set the teleport controls, locked onto Avon's bracelet and pulled the lever. Blake looked into the teleport bay as Avon's form wavered into existence in front of them. 

      Avon looked wary, on edge, holding his gun as though he had been hiding, waiting for someone to attack him. Bags under his eyes and several days growth of stubble did nothing to enhance his appearance. Cally smiled and walked round the control panel to meet him. Avon relaxed and lowered the gun, then, as Blake stepped forward, jerked round suddenly and aimed it at him. 

      Cally's reaction seemed instantaneous, perhaps her telepathic abilities had given her a moment's warning. She knocked down the gun, even as Blake ducked back around the corner, reacting in shocked surprise to a shot that had barely missed him. 

      Avon struggled with Cally for a moment, trying to gain control of the gun, then he let go abruptly and stepped back, pulling the handgun's connector from the power pack as he did so. His face was bleak. "I told you to keep Blake away from me," he snarled, and pushed his way past her towards the corridor. 

      Blake stepped out and seized Avon by the arm. "That's not good enough, Avon. I think I'm entitled to an explanation. What the Hell is going on?"

      Avon froze as Blake touched him, his fists clenched. "Let go of me," Avon said very slowly and deliberately. "I am not going to explain myself to you or to anyone else. I know what happened, and it won't happen again, provided that," Avon almost shouted the words, "you leave me alone."

      "Conditioned reflex," Cally said suddenly. 

      Avon closed his eyes for a moment, an acknowledgement perhaps, if Cally chose to take it that way. 

      "You're telling me," Blake said disbelievingly, "that they conditioned Avon to kill me?"

      "In essence, yes," Cally replied. 

      Blake released Avon's arm, stepped back, and looked at him consideringly. "Is this going to happen every time you see me?"

      "No," Avon said tightly. "I can control it."

      "Do you expect me to risk my life on the strength of that assurance?"

      He took a step towards Avon, who backed away from him towards the teleport bay. He moved forwards again, leaving Avon with no option but to retreat towards the wall. 

      "Just how sure are you?" Blake asked, as he deliberately reduced the distance between them even further. 

      Avon's hands flashed out, taking Blake by surprise as they reached for his throat. The two of them struggled for a moment, then Avon sagged limply as Cally applied a tranquilliser pad from the emergency medical kit. 

      "Thanks," Blake said in relief. "Help me get him to the surgical unit."

      He reached out to take one of Avon's arms, while Cally took the other, but even in his drugged state, Avon shied away from Blake. 

      "Let me," Cally offered. "I can manage him on my own, and it won't panic him so much."

      Blake nodded, and Cally led Avon unsteadily down the corridor. 

      "Well," he demanded an hour later, "what did you find?"

      Cally fiddled with a blood sampler before answering. "You aren't going to like

      Blake glanced at Avon's unconscious form on the surgical unit's bed. "Probably not," he agreed. 

      "He wouldn't let me examine him," she said slowly. "I had to drug him in the end. Now I know why."

      Blake waited patiently. Whatever Cally had found had evidently distressed her. There was no point in upsetting her further by pressing her too hard for information. 

      "He had some superficial cuts and bruises, nothing too serious; but he was bruised internally and I found traces of semen."

      Cally swallowed hard. "Blake, he was raped."

      That was hard to absorb. Blake tried to imagine Avon helplessly pinioned, assaulted by the weight of another man. How many of them had it taken to hold him down? Had there been just one man inside him, or had they taken it in turns?

      Avon, who valued his independence and freedom so highly. Avon, who disliked close human contact at the best of times. What must it have been like for him, to be humiliated in such a manner?

      He looked at the unconscious man on the bed. Did you fight them Avon, or did you accept the inevitable in order to get it over with as quickly as possible? Somehow, I think you fought them. I think you fought them with everything you had - and lost. "But what's that to do with him attacking me?" Blake asked, and knew the answer even as he spoke. "That damned child molesting charge! Avon knew that was false," he protested. 

      Cally walked over to Orac and positioned the activator key. "Orac, tell Blake what you told me about Avon."

      "It should be apparent, even to one of Blake's limited intelligence, that Avon's memory has been tampered with. He was conditioned and then deliberately allowed to escape once  _Liberator_  was sighted. Given the limited time available to them, they will have been unable to do a perfect job; hence, Avon having some moderate intellectual ability, will have realised that his memories are inconsistent."

      Blake interrupted. "If Avon knows the memories to be false, why is there any problem?"

      "If," said Orac in his most offended manner, "you will allow me to continue..."

      Blake was silent. 

      After a short interval, Orac carried on, "Owing to his family history, Avon would be an ideal subject for this form of manipulation, a fact which his captors were doubtless aware of from his files."

      "Family history?" queried Blake. 

      Cally looked him squarely in the eye. "Avon was sexually abused by his father."

      Blake couldn't think of anything to say to her. The Federation had hurt Avon in the worst possible manner and then edited the memory in some way so as to link it with Blake. Blake's faked trial had simply made their task easier. It might even have given them the idea in the first place. The information explained so much about Avon, but it left them no closer to a solution in the present case. Avon was too much of a risk to be let loose. That only left them with the options of restraining him or dumping him. Neither of which was acceptable. 

      "Orac, how can we restore Avon's memory?"

      "Normally, a blocked memory can be restored by experiencing events similar to those that have been lost or tampered with. In the present case, this would not be appropriate."

      Blake could well imagine that. Arranging for Avon to be raped again was not only unthinkable, it could easily drive the man totally over the edge. 

      "The only alternative," Orac continued dryly, "is to restore Avon's emotional stability before he kills someone."

      You're saying that he knows intellectually that I won't harm him, but he needs to know it on an emotional level as well?"

      "lf you know what I am saying, why waste my time by repeating it?" Orac said acerbically. 

      He ignored the computer's irritation. "Just how," he asked cautiously, "do I give Avon emotional security?"

      "Sleep with him for a night, and do nothing," replied Orac, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

      Blake winced. Quite apart from the fact that he could think of several thousand things he'd rather do, he could just imagine Avon's reaction to the suggestion. Avon, who valued his privacy almost as highly as his life. Avon, who was going to be furious beyond belief, simply because they knew what had happened to him. 

      "Cally, how long before he comes round?"

      She checked the monitor. "About five or ten minutes."

      "I think you'd better leave. The fewer witnesses to this, the happier he'll be."

      "You're going to do it?" she asked in surprise. 

      "I don't know yet. If it's the only answer..."

      Blake sat and watched Avon's regular breathing. According to Cally's estimate he should have been awake by now. Blake leaned over and lifted an eyelid. Both eyes promptly opened and Avon glared at him. 

      "How long have you been awake?"

      "Long enough to wish you'd go away."

      "Cally did a full medical exam on you; I've seen the results."

      Cold fury was the best way to describe Avon's expression. Blake was suddenly glad for the restraints which Cally had left in position over the bed. 

      "It doesn't matter anyway. I'm leaving," Avon said icily. "You can put me off at the next planet you visit."

      "Why?" asked Blake. It wasn't a totally unexpected reaction, but he was curious to hear Avon's reasons. 

      The dark brown eyes narrowed slightly. "It is apparent that I shall eventually succeed in killing you if I stay. I doubt that I should be permitted to survive long after that."

      Blake studied him. "Orac has suggested an alternative solution."

      "What?"

      Was there a faint note of hope in Avon's voice? Blake hoped he'd heard it. 

      He tried to put Orac's proposal into his own words, and then dried up in the face of the certain knowledge of Avon's reaction. 

      Reaching out, Blake released the restraints. "Ask him yourself. I'll see you later."

      He spent the rest of the day avoiding Avon and trying to gain the resolution to act. Avon's decision to leave had forced his hand. It wasn't just that he needed Avon, it was that Avon had been forced into that decision against his will. Blake stretched his shoulders, aware of how stiff and tense he was. If he did as Orac suggested and Avon still wanted to leave, then that was another matter - but surely he had to try and give Avon that chance, no matter what the risk involved was?

      He chewed his knuckle, realised that it was his own hesitation speaking, and forced himself to make a decision. Avon normally turned in about this time in order to be awake for the mid-night watch. Blake made an adjustment to the watch list and headed for Avon's cabin before he could change his mind. 

      Blake walked in without knocking, slightly surprised that the door hadn't been locked, then without turning his back to Avon, he reached behind himself to hit the lock panel. 

      Avon sprang to his feet from the desk where he'd been sitting, a knife appearing in his hand as if from nowhere. Blake froze, not moving a muscle. If he fought Avon, he was simply going to reinforce the effect of the conditioning. If he offered no threat, Avon should, he hoped desperately, react to that and regain control. 

      Avon stalked towards him, knife at the ready, then he slowed, unexpectedly relaxed his grip and handed Blake the knife. "I think you'd better have it," he said candidly, "otherwise any arguments might get a little permanent."

      Blake hesitated a moment, then took the weapon and flung it hard into the ceiling where it stuck, out of easy reach of both of them. "Does that mean that you're willing to attempt what Orac suggested?" he asked. 

      "No," Avon said evenly, "it simply mean that I don't want to accidentally kill you while refusing."

      "I think it's necessary," Blake said simply. 

      "Give me one good reason why."

      That was a tough one. Avon wasn't going to react well to any suggestion of pity. "I've got an excellent reason," Blake stated. "I want to stay alive." Now he'd thrown the ball in Avon's court and given him the responsibility. 

      "All right, Blake," Avon spat the words at him. "I'll play your game, but don't blame me if I strangle you half-way through the night."

      Faced with Avon's hostility, Blake almost backed out, then firming his decision, he made the first move by taking off his jacket. 

      Accepting the challenge, Avon removed his tunic top, all the while, keeping his attention on Blake. 

      Blake took off his shirt and dropped it on the floor behind him. "Your turn," he said to Avon. 

      Avon stood stiff and unmoving, taking in the sight of Blake half dressed. "No," he whispered. 

      Blake wasn't sure whether to revel in Avon's sudden weakness or to pity it. "It's only a jumper," he said softly. "It doesn't mean anything."

      Slowly, Avon peeled off the black roll neck and pulled it over his head. His body underneath was pale and white, in sharp contrast to the black of his trousers. In Avon's stillness there was the suggestion of the flawlessness of a marble statue, but the living man breathed unevenly and had a sense of immanent reality to him that no sculptor could ever hope to emulate. Blake found himself curious as to how Avon would look when the rest of him was revealed. 

      Blake slid down his trousers, trying to make the action look as normal and unconcerned as possible. He suddenly felt ridiculous, standing there before Avon dressed only in his underpants. "Let's get this over with," he growled. 

      Avon reached for the fastening of his own trousers and then stopped. Respecting Avon's unease, Blake turned his back and removed his underpants, waiting a minute or so to give Avon plenty of time. Finally he turned back again. 

      Avon stood perfectly still, waiting for him. He was slender, somehow even thinner than Blake had imagined, and curiously defenceless without his black clothes. His body hair was fine and dark and clustered in unexpected curls around his groin. 

      Blake felt a sudden ache within himself and cursed mentally. Of all the things he had expected from this night, being attracted to Avon physically was not one of them. It was also the last thing that Avon needed. 

      There was a smoothness to Avon's skin, a delicate quality to it that made Blake want to run his hands over the other man's body, caress it, hold it close to himself. If he felt that skin, would it be as soft as it looked, or hard as the man himself? No, hard was the wrong word. Surely Avon would be a gentle lover, the arguments of the day forgotten in the delights of the night? Or would he be passionate, aggressive, seizing Blake's lips and taking whatever he wanted? The image grew stronger in his mind; himself and Avon, wrapped in passionate embrace, seeking the wine of each other's lips. Blake wanted it so badly that he could taste it. 

      It was as though Avon had sensed his feelings, the other man's whole attitude abruptly changed. From tense nervousness, he suddenly became aggressive. Coming towards Blake, he reached out for Blake's genitals. 

      Blake froze with a sharp intake of breath. His penis moved slightly in Avon's hand, a small imprisoned animal seeking its own desires. Blake willed himself to make no movement. He forced himself to remember that his desire was the fabric of Avon's nightmares. 

      "What's the matter?" Avon snarled. "You know what you really want, don't you? What my father always wanted."

      "No," Blake managed to say. 

      "What is it? Are you afraid that you'll want to do it; or afraid that you won't be able to?"

      Avon's hand stroked the fine skin on Blake's penis, sending an agonising sweetness through his groin. It was almost too much to bear; the temptation to beg Avon to carry on, to bring him to fullness and then to fulfilment, threatened to overwhelm him. The desire to reach out to his friend in turn, to stroke the nipples that were so enticingly close, to take them with his tongue and to make Avon cry out with pleasure, was achingly strong. Blake's penis was growing and swelling now, with a burgeoning life of its own. If Avon didn't stop now, Blake knew he would never be able to control himself. 

      "Avon," he said harshly, deliberately using the phrase Avon had used earlier in the day. "Let go of me."

      It seemed to sink in. Avon released him and stepped back. 

      "It would be so easy, wouldn't it," Blake demanded aggressively. "Make yourself believe I'm going to force you like your father did. Then you can kill me with a clean conscience. I'm not going to let you take that easy way out."

      Avon regarded him evenly. "What are you going to do then?"

      "Sleep with you if you'll allow it, leave if you won't. Avon, when I say sleep, I mean sleep - nothing else." It was one of the hardest things he had ever said, but it was a promise to a friend who needed his help, and he every intention of keeping it. 

      "You really mean it, don't you?" Avon's guard was suddenly down. For the first time, he felt that Avon was prepared to trust him. He nodded, unable to say more. 

      Avon led the way silently into his sleeping quarters. Blake looked around himself in curiosity; he'd never been here before. The room was fairly spartan, but a large alien landscape on one wall, and a beautifully carved statuette of a young woman, gave it a sense of identity. 

      Avon lay down without comment, facing the wall, his back to Blake. Blake chose to take that as an invitation and lay down also, aware as he did so of Avon's sudden tension. He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and felt Avon flinch. 

      He wanted to take Avon in his arms, to hold him and comfort him. The isolated, vulnerable man he had here tonight was not the Avon he was used to. The aggressive, self-sufficient thorn in his side had gone, to be replaced by someone he didn't know at all. 

      Avon's nearness was frightening. Too close now, Blake found himself all too aware of the texture of Avon's skin, the rough silk of his hair, the subtle scent of his body.

      He wanted to touch that body, tease the dark hair through his fingers, lick the sweat from the skin, and more, far more besides. With an abstract horror, he could feel his erection hardening once more, feel his body wanting to break the promise he had made. 

      Avon was shivering, a fine tremor that ran through his body. Blake drew him closer, protectively, to hold him tight, and Avon's control suddenly snapped. Like a wild feline, he flung himself around and was upon Blake, fighting, frantically, irrationally. Blake flung his hands before his eyes to protect himself and struggled, falling off the bed, and landing hard on the floor with Avon on top of him. Normally the stronger and heavier of the two men, he was no match for Avon's blind panic. Remembering his earlier experiences, he allowed himself to go limp, and felt real fear as Avon's fingers, no longer blocked, closed on the arteries in his throat. Blackness descended, blotting out all awareness of time and his physical body. 

      Blake slowly recovered consciousness an unknown period of time later to discover Avon bending over him with a cloth and a bowl of water. 

      "That was too close for comfort," Blake said feelingly. 

      "I know." Avon looked worried. "Blake, this isn't going to work."

      "Yes it is," Blake said firmly. He had more reasons for wanting to succeed now. He had never felt this close to Avon before. He could read it in Avon's face, the fear of how close he had come to murdering Blake, the desire to help him now, and a protective look that was for Blake and Blake alone. He'd caught that look before, usually on the rare occasions when he'd done something incredibly stupid and Avon had been there to help him; or when the  _Liberator_  had been hit by incoming plasma bolts and Avon had caught him to save him from injury. 

      Why had he never realised before now, that Avon loved him? He felt sure that that love would never manifest itself in the physical form he had desired earlier, but it was a love that was worth having in its own right. 

      He looked Avon directly in the eye. "It will work," he said with conviction, "because we both want it to. I don't want you to leave, and I don't think you want to go."

      Avon looked at him with bemusement. "You're willing to try again after what happened just now."

      "I am."

      They returned silently to the bed.

      It was five hours before Blake knew from hearing his breathing, that Avon had finally relaxed enough to be able to sleep. Only then, did he allow his own eyes to close and his mind to wander into the realm of dreams.

      The bed was small, not really big enough for two. He twisted in his sleep to try and get into a more comfortable position, and found himself up against Avon. Instead of moving away from him, Avon accepted the touch, staying loose and easy in his slumber. Avon must have rolled over at some time, for he was facing Blake now. Blake could pick out the details of his face in the dim overhead lighting. There were laughter lines around the eyes. Somehow, somewhere, Avon had been happy enough for it to have left an indelible trace behind. He traced a finger along the creases in the skin, continuing the caress by running his fingers through the dark brown hair. Avon stirred beneath him, pushing his head against Blake's hand in the manner of a cat wanting its head to be stroked. Or was he simply trying to push Blake away?

      He studied the face before him. There seemed no sign of strain. He stroked Avon's hair again, and got the same reaction. Blake tensed, his whole body clamouring at him. In this sleep, Avon was no longer rejecting him, he accepted the caress that he would have violently rejected only a few hours before. He let his hand glide gently down Avon's shoulder, and saw the faintest ghost of a smile pass over the other man's face. The struggle within him intensified. Here and now, Avon accepted him. Such a chance might never come again. Quiet, relaxed in sleep, and free from his demons, Avon could accept his love. Once awake and in the bright light of day, Avon was sure to return to his normal cold self, and reject any suggestion of a relationship between them. 

      If he were to start now, touching where the body was most sensitive, Avon would be able to wake gently to pure pleasure. They could make love together with no threat of violence or danger to mar their union. Where was the best place to start? He could run his hands over Avon, stroking him gently and lightly, just brushing the fine body hair; or he could caress him more firmly, feeling the power concealed within the other man's body. The thought of Avon's strength caressing him in return quickened Blake's pulse. Perhaps he could take Avon's penis, lick it slowly, ever so slowly, warm it within his mouth, and suck it to fullness. The thought excited him, warming him inside. 

      Mind made up, he pulled back the sheet carefully, revelling once more in the sight of Avon's naked body. The pattern of the muscles under the skin, the symmetry of his form, surely the ancient gods had not been as beautiful as this? The only thing missing was the eyes, still closed in slumber, the brown eyes that had looked at him earlier with such trust and affection. 

      Trust. A trust which Blake was now about to betray. He had promised Avon, given him his word. 

      But surely, deep within himself, this was what Avon really wanted?

      Is it? asked another side of Blake's self. It this what Avon wants, or are you simply trying to fool yourself?

      It doesn't matter, said some devil deep within him. Avon's asleep now, he won't fight you. Surely this is the best way to cure his fears, to show him what love can really be like? Take him, show him, help him out of the darkness. 

      No, said yet another voice; Avon was abused once before by someone whom he trusted. If you break your word to him now, do you think he will ever be able to trust anyone again? Blake released the sheet reluctantly. Even if this was what Avon desired, taking him without his conscious consent would be a breach of faith. If he was wrong, then he would be doing his friend a disservice that could never be repaid. "Avon," he said quietly. "What do you want?"

      Avon stirred in his sleep. "Blake? What are you doing here?" Then he screamed, a horrible sound that seemed to be forced out from deep inside him. "No!" He curled tight into a ball, knees to his stomach, head tucked under his hands. "I won't do it! You can't make me do it!"

      Blake watched him, aghast, drawn into Avon's terror. What nightmare had his voice triggered? Did you really think, he asked himself bitterly, that a few kisses could eliminate the memory of that?

      Avon flinched as though someone had hit him, and then started flailing around, trying to fend off an invisible assailant. 

      "Avon! Wake up!" Blake grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him roughly. "It's only a dream. You're safe aboard the  _Liberator_. I won't hurt you."

      Avon's eyes snapped open, seeking Blake's face. He relaxed slowly, shaking slightly from the release of tension. 

      "It's all right," Blake insisted. "I won't hurt you."

      Avon regarded him, then answered wearily, "If I didn't believe that now, I'd have killed you the moment you entered this room." His face darkened. "I tried to believe it on Garron, as a way of distinguishing real memories from the false. It helped - for a while."

      "I'll never let you down, Avon. Trust me."

      "Actually, I do," Avon said almost inaudibly, and promptly rolled over and appeared to go back to sleep. 

      The sense of pain was incredible. The pain of fulfilment denied, that was a small thing and soon gone, but the knowledge of how close he had come to hurting Avon was to remain with Blake for a long time. He wasn't a religious man, but he offered a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deities there might be for the narrowness of his escape. Avon trusted him, and Blake knew how close he had come to destroying that quiet, improbable faith for ever. 

      He touched a single strand of the dark brown hair, rolling it between his fingers. He had come closer to understanding Avon this night than he ever had before. Avon was both stronger, and yet more vulnerable than he had ever realised. Avon cared for him, trusted him, and that made Avon a valuable ally, but in some ways more dangerous than ever. He knew instinctively that if he ever tried to use those feelings to manipulate Avon, he would risk losing him. 

      Blake sighed to himself and released the hair. His own love for Avon, he was beginning to realise, was probably just as complex as whatever it was that Avon felt for himself. What had begun as a straightforward physical attraction, had become more complicated. In resisting the lure of Avon's sex, he had realised Avon's importance to him in other ways. He'd always relied on Avon's technical abilities, valued his advice even when he didn't take it. He'd been exasperated by Avon's studied self-interest, and irritated by his constant gibes. Now, Blake could feel the affection behind the face Avon presented to the world, and he knew how much it mattered to him. 

      Physical beauty, argumentative nature, genius level intelligence, an amoral sense of humour, and that odd, unexpected trust, they were all part of the man he loved. 

      He awoke gradually in the morning feeling relaxed and comforted and realised to his surprise that sometime in the night they had become entwined in each other's arms. He allowed himself to enjoy the sensation for a while; it was an unexpected gift that he hadn't dared to hope for. 

      Eventually he moved to extract himself, trying not to disturb Avon, and then realised that the other man was no longer asleep. "How do you feel?" he asked. 

      Avon stretched experimentally. "Fine I think. How's your throat?"

      "Sore, but I'll live." Blake gave way to curiosity. "Who were you dreaming about last night? You were smiling in your sleep."

      Avon looked at him in slight surprise, then answered, "Someone I knew a long time ago - she's dead now."

      The mysterious Anna - it had to be. 

      "I'm jealous," he said lightly, trying to pass it off as a joke. 

      Avon with an understanding Blake hadn't credited him with, was suddenly serious. "Blake, what did you really want last night?"

      "I wanted you." Blake tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, but wasn't totally successful. 

      "Thank you."

      "For what?"

      Avon smiled, an affectionate mocking half smile that Blake would never forget. 

      "For nothing."

 


End file.
